


I Am the Heart That You Call Home

by alittlebitaces (acesmcgee)



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesmcgee/pseuds/alittlebitaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so I know she isn't due back for a few episodes yet, but my lady requested it, so here we are. supposing Helena had come back at the end of No Pain, No Gain (4.05). bisous chouchou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am the Heart That You Call Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winged_mammal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/gifts).



At this hour the hospital is muted, almost calm compared to its normal hectic pace during the day. Only a few nurses mill about, checking where they're needed, most looking quite bedraggled and well into their shift, and the patient suites are either darkened or shut off from the world. Myka shares the waiting room with exactly one other person besides the nurse doing paperwork behind the desk: a man, maybe mid 30s, and judging by the way he is fidgeting every time the agent glances up from her magazine, his family is somewhere back there. Pete, though he accompanied her there, had left an hour or two ago after repeated assurances that his partner would be just fine without him, and really, he was tired and she could make it back alone in the morning so he should just get some rest.

So it's quiet. The occasional rasp of paper, sigh, but otherwise quiet. 

She barely registers a set of footsteps, delicate and measured, coming down the hallway. They seem to quicken somewhat as they approach, but still she doesn't look up until she sees the nurse raise her head out of the corner of her eye--first looking to the woman's face, then turning her head to see who has sparked her attention.

Her first thought is more an absence of one, so stunned to see that woman taking the distance between them in strides just edging past casual that Myka Bering actually forgets the article she had been reading about the latest advancements in heart transplants (pre-med dies hard.)

The second is that she isn't surprised at all that this was the reason the nurse's gaze lingered. Helena looks as breathtaking as ever, perhaps a bit weary herself but still _her_ , black hair swept over her shoulders and fluttering softly with the rhythmic rise and fall of every step. Her true beauty, however, lies in the smile that's overtaken her face. 

And it's a smile, Myka knows, for her. 

Immediately straightening in her chair, the agent absently sets aside the magazine without even looking, her gaze remaining riveted to the approaching woman. Helena has slowed a bit now that Myka has noticed her, but nonetheless slips in to sit beside her with trademark elegance. She knows she's gaping, but she can't much help herself, and the subject of it seems more tickled by it than anything.

"Really, darling, you look as though you've seen a ghost," she teases, keeping her voice quiet and low--still, the man across from them looks up at hearing her accent.

"You...you--" Myka tries, stumbling over her words. Finally, she manages to breathe, "They let you come back. You--you're back."

A little smirk quirks the Victorian's lips, the sort that would typically prove maddening had Myka been less preoccupied with the simple fact of Helena sitting beside her. "So it would seem."

And Myka practically melts in her chair for all the stress seeping from her, leaving her near boneless, even that which she had long thought buried, or blindly shouldered; quite suddenly she felt so light it was almost dizzying. For all her hoping and even for all of Artie's strangely adamant support, she had never actually expected Helena to be _here_.

"How did you...?"

Those imperious brows arch and the smirk softens to a smile. "How did I come to arrive here?"

Myka, numbed, merely nods.

"They offered me a choice in returning me, to the bed and breakfast or to this hospital. When I heard you were here, it was hardly a choice at all." Sensing her next question, reading it in the way Myka's brows knit and she cants her head to the side (and really how she's missed watching those curls tumble), Helena adds simply, "They know how I care for you."

_They know how you stopped me from destroying the world. They know how you and you alone believed in me, even after all that. They know you were right. They know what I would do for you._

And Myka falls once more into a dazed expression, staring down at the flecked linoleum tiles. It seems the most natural thing in the world when she said it, and for once the swell of emotion the agent feels rise within her is not met with a chiding inner voice. For once, she allows herself to acknowledge this woman how she's always thought of her. It doesn't feel right, then, to keep a secret. They should start again _right_. 

Green eyes lift and turn once more upon those pale, aristocratic features. "I...kissed someone." A hot blush is hard on the heels of her practically blurted confession, and for some reason it only grows as she watches Helena's head slowly tilt to the side, assessing her, more curious than anything.

"Peter?"

"Wh--no! No, I--no. No." Blinking rapidly, she straightens again, continuing on and talking far too much with her hands. "No, just...just some guy I met, a hockey player, his name's--"

"How was it?"

Silence. She could practically feel the furtive gaze of the man still sitting quietly across from them, who, to his credit, was doing his best to seem invisible. 

"...What?"

Calmly, Helena repeats, "How was it? The kiss."

Absurdly, Myka's first reaction is almost to say it was amazing, fireworks, wonderful, if not just to shock Helena into being as indignant as the agent thinks she should be--wants her to be. Then she swings wildly in the other direction, wanting to say it was completely terrible, to say she'll never do it again, she didn't know what came over her, she thought Helena wasn't ever going to come back and she's been alone for so long, since Sam--but Myka knows that wouldn't be entirely truthful, either. 

Finally, what feels like ages later, she furrows her brow and stares down at her hands, only lifting her gaze again when she is gifted a moment of clarity and responds, "It wasn't you."

Dark eyes watch her sink back into the chair again, watch her wipe a hand down her face and fight back the sudden fatigue of honesty.

"It wasn't you."

With a warm smile, the kind that makes Myka's stomach turn pleasantly, makes her feel like she's the only one in the world, Helena clasps her hands together and declares, "Well, there we are then."

The agent's about to ask her what, exactly, that means, when a crisp "Myka Bering?" pierces the quiet of the waiting room. Both women turn their attention toward the nurse in the hallway, and Myka's sprung from the chair with a high, "Yes?"

"Your sister's feeding the baby and resting now, if you'd like to come back." The woman's eyes drift quizzically from Myka to look behind her, who turns to find Helena standing as well. Without saying a word, the nurse turns on heel and begins to walk back toward the single light on, leaving Myka and Helena scurrying after her.

She has no designs on children, but even so it's hard to fight back the tears that spring to her eyes, seeing that little life swathed in receiving blankets--so tiny, so fragile, are they always like this?--clutched to her sister's chest. Tracy smiles as they enter the room, quite obviously still feeling the effects of the epidural, squinting a bit at the stranger trailing in behind her sister.

"Who's your friend, Mykes?" she slurrs, still smiling.

"This is...Helena," Myka replies, sharing a quick smile of her own with the other woman, and thankfully her sister, in her current state, is satisfied enough to not press for more. "Helena, Tracy, my younger sister."

"So lovely to meet you," Helena demures, her chin dipping in a polite greeting.

"Where's...?"

"Oh, he went out for coffee."

A moment or two lapses as Myka hesitates, unsure exactly what to do, but Tracy easily dispels doubt with a cheerful, "Well? He ain't gonna hold himself, miss aunt."

Myka ducks her head and breathes a short laugh, stepping forward to gingerly take the proffered bundle--"He's asleep, like his mom wants to be," Tracy adds, and they both laugh this time. "Hey, I've got him. You--you...take a nap or something."

With the help of the residual drugs in her system, it doesn't take long for her little sister to nod off, leaving just Myka and Helena standing by the door, watching her. The minutes tick by, the soft little grunts and sighs coming from the tiny being cradled to her chest being the only thing to break the silence. Soon, lulled by the beat of his aunt's heart, even that fades, and all is peaceful in the patient suite.

Still, one last thing itches at the back of Myka's mind.

"Are you going to stay?"

Her words visibly jostle Helena from wherever the other woman had disappeared into her own thoughts, soft-spoken and tentative though they were. 

"Mm?"

"At the Warehouse, I mean, with--with--" she catches, sucks in a breath, and unable to finish the thought, just repeats, "Are you staying?"

A look of consideration flickers over Helena's porcelain features, more playful than anything as black eyes study Myka's face. Once upon a time she begrudged that look, how she could practically feel the black-haired woman peel back her mask and read everything hidden beneath it, everything she couldn't quite bring herself to say yet; now, though, there is a visceral pang in her chest that leaves no doubt as to how much she missed it.

"Well," Helena begins slowly, and oh how Myka missed that cheeky grin as well, "unless I can convince you to come away with me, Agent Bering...?"

For the first time in what feels like a very long while, the grin that slowly stretches across her own lips comes freely and easily. 

"No, I hadn't thought so," the smaller woman says, her own expression gradually sliding to a serene smile even as she takes the one or two ambling steps to close the remaining distance between them. 

The humour of her jest falls away after another few moments and Myka sobers. "It's where I belong." Then, "It's my home."

And Helena's suddenly all too close in that way she has of invading personal space while somehow making her not mind at all (if it's a rare day and she's being honest with herself: like she very much wants her even closer) and Myka actually feels her breath hitch a bit in her throat. The infant in her arms stirs, waking slightly by a quickening heartbeat. 

_No. Mike definitely wasn't you at all._

She murmurs, "Then I dare say it's mine as well."

Just like that, Myka thinks, standing in a hospital holding her new nephew with Helena standing beside her for all the world like that is where _she_ belongs and a family (finally, again) to return to, things are as right as they have ever felt.

**Author's Note:**

> (because I've never really pegged Helena as the jealous type--she's far too secure and all too aware of the effect she has. particularly, I think, on Myka.)


End file.
